


never let me go

by Free



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Chris has a nightmare but Buck makes it better, Getting Together, M/M, Pre-lawsuit, Soft Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Soft Evan "Buck" Buckley, no beta we die like that judge Freddie killed, the post-dinner scene we all deserved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 11:02:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30054474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Free/pseuds/Free
Summary: “What time is it?” Eddie’s voice shifts into something sharp. “Jesus, three AM? Buck, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called.”“I don’t mind.”He meant to be firm, but it comes out soft. Too soft.He listens to Eddie breathe on the other end of the line.“He was… before I woke him up. He was saying your name, Buck.”It’s like the entire world stops. Buck sits, suspended, staring at his bookshelf.“I’ll be right there,” he hears himself say, pushing up from the bed.“No, Buck, I can’t ask you to—”“You aren’t asking. I’m coming. I’ll be there in twenty.”
Relationships: Eddie Diaz/Evan "Buck" Buckley
Comments: 21
Kudos: 407





	never let me go

**Author's Note:**

> This thought popped into my brain and I couldn't let it go ;)
> 
> Full disclaimer, I am a fan of the lawsuit arc, but in this universe it ain't gonna happen. This is extremely self-indulgent, but I hope it makes you smile :)

Buck doesn’t slam the door behind him. Athena doesn’t deserve it, even if he somewhat childishly feels that Bobby does. If they weren’t at neutral ground, Buck isn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself from breaking something. He feels like shoving his fist through a wall. Which is something he’d actually done: seventeen years old, in his childhood bedroom, so angry about his parents looking at him and seeing straight through him that he’d taken a swing at some innocent drywall. He’d ended up with three broken fingers. He remembers that pain.

It hurt less than this.

It feels like someone ran his soul through with a serrated knife, leaving a jagged, burning hole behind.

He makes it to his car and wipes his eyes with his sleeve, gunning out of there before Bobby gets it into his head to follow him. And that’d be bad, because Buck kind of wants to punch Bobby’s fucking face in. 

_I’m the dumbass._ Buck revs the jeep down the road. 

All those months of physical training, the break downs Buck hid in Bobby’s shoulder, the promises Bobby made. _We’re all waiting for you, Buck._

And the worst lie of them all: _You can do this_. 

Because apparently, Bobby doesn’t think he can. Bobby thinks that all Buck is good for is clipboards and cheap suits and sidelines. 

God, he hasn’t felt like this in years. Since he lived with his parents. Hasn’t felt so small, so invisible. Like all he’ll ever amount to is disappointment. 

He doesn’t remember most of the drive to his apartment, lost in a fog of memories and hurt, just trying to breathe — _inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, you can’t fuck up anything else, inhale, exhale_.

He parks. Pulls his keys from the ignition. 

He doesn’t make it up to his apartment for three hours. 

When the rage runs out of him, gets replaced by fear (what if I _never_ get to be a firefighter again?), which is washed away by a heavy, all-consuming resignation (he’s never been much of anything, has he? He was never going to be able to hold onto this, it just wasn’t his luck, his fucking fate, OK, he was always, always going to lose the things that mattered to him, the things that made him matter), he pops open the car door and stumbles outside. 

It feels like he got crushed by another ladder truck. His head is throbbing, his limbs ache, and there’s a phantom pain in his left knee that’s stealing the breath from his lungs. It takes a long time to drag himself up to his apartment, but at least no one’s around to see him limping down the hallway, taking breaks at every landing as he ascends the stairs. 

As he pushes the door of his apartment open, Buck has a distant realization, as if it’s a light winking in the darkness miles away, that he had a panic attack. He used to get them after Maddie left with Doug, feeling trapped with his parents, and he’s had a handful since the ladder truck incident. 

Maybe he should tell someone. 

God, he used to tell _Bobby_. He used to call Bobby at two in the morning when he couldn’t breathe, and Bobby’s calm, patient voice would ground him again. 

OK, Maddie then. But then she’d ask questions, like how he knew what a panic attack felt like, and he’d have to tell her about all the other ones he had, and he doesn’t want her to worry. 

...Eddie?

God, Buck wants to. He wants to call Eddie and tell him everything. Let Eddie smooth away his frayed emotions. Ask Eddie to hold him tight so he won’t fall apart. 

And that’s why Buck won’t do it. He won’t ask for more than Eddie can give. He won’t give Eddie a reason to leave him, too. 

So Buck hobbles up the stairs and into a hot shower and stares at the pale tile below the shower head until the water starts running cold. 

He pulls on a pair of sweatpants and an LAFD hoodie, almost breaking down again when he looks at the logo. He swallows the fire rising in his throat and leans back on his bed, pulls on a pair of headphones, and closes his eyes. He doesn’t play anything, just lets the world go quiet, muffled. Lets himself hope that when he opens his eyes again, everything will be OK. 

He jolts awake to the frantic buzzing of his cellphone. 

He rips off the headphones and fumbles for the phone on his nightstand, feeling a flicker of surprise when he sees Eddie’s face and the number 3:19 AM on his screen. 

He answers, “what’s going on?”

“Buck,” Eddie says. Buck sits up, swings his legs to the side of the bed. Eddie sounds choked, pained. Something’s wrong. 

“What is it? I’m here,” Buck says. Eddie takes a moment to answer.

“It’s… it’s Chris.” As if that wasn’t the surest way to give Buck a heart attack. “He had a, a nightmare. A pretty bad one. He won’t — he won’t talk to me. He won’t say anything. He’s… he’s just… he won’t stop crying, Buck. I don’t know what to _do_.” 

Buck presses the hand not holding the phone into his thigh. “Another one?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. Buck can see him rubbing his eyes, slumped at the kitchen table. “I don’t know how to help him. God, I’m a terrible father.”

“No,” Buck says, fierce. “That’s not true, and you know it.”

“What time is it?” Eddie’s voice shifts into something sharp. “Jesus, three AM? Buck, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called.”

“I don’t mind.” 

He meant to be firm, but it comes out soft. Too soft. 

He listens to Eddie breathe on the other end of the line. 

“He was… before I woke him up. He was saying your name, Buck.”

It’s like the entire world stops. Buck sits, suspended, staring at his bookshelf. 

“I’ll be right there,” he hears himself say, pushing up from the bed. 

“No, Buck, I can’t ask you to—”

“You aren’t asking. I’m coming. I’ll be there in twenty.”

Buck hangs up before Eddie can talk him out of it. He stops by the bathroom to pee, checks that his face isn’t too blotchy from crying earlier (it is, but there's fuckall he can do about it), and hurries down the stairs. 

Even LA is quiet this early in the morning. There are only a few cars on the road, one or two people huddled at bus stops as Buck makes his way to Eddie’s house. 

The porch light is on when he gets there.

Buck lets himself inside, grateful for the house key Eddie gave him, and kicks off his shoes. 

He’s opening the door to Christopher’s room five seconds later.

Eddie’s sitting on the bed, his back propped by the headboard, and Chris is curled into his chest. He’s running a hand down Chris’s back, his eyes closed, humming a soft melody Buck doesn’t know.

“Hey, Superman,” Buck says quietly, holding the door open. Eddie’s eyes snap open, his hand stilling on Chris’s back.

Chris’s voice wobbles into the air, muffled by his dad’s shirt. “B… B… Buck?”

And then he’s lifting his head, watery eyes finding Buck, his lower lip trembling. Buck drops his hand from the doorknob and trips to the bed, bundles Chris in his arms as the kid sits up on his knees, reaching back for him. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Buck says, burying his face in Chris’s curls, feeling Chris’s chest hitch with a fresh round of sobs, “I’m here. You’re OK. You’re OK, Chris. Everything’s gonna be OK.”

Chris’s tears soak through Buck’s hoodie, but Buck won’t, can’t, let him go. He still doesn’t know what he’s done to earn Chris’s trust, when all Buck did was lose him, let him down, _let him go,_ but Buck knows he would do anything, _anything,_ he’d walk through fire, take a thousand ladder trucks, he’d fucking _die_ to keep that trust. 

Eventually, Buck couldn’t say how long, Chris stops crying and starts breathing. Slowly, like he’s fallen asleep. Buck pulls away, feeling bereft even with only three inches between them. Chris’s eyes are closed, his mouth relaxed, a trickle of snot shining beneath his nose. Buck lifts a thumb to wipe it away, presses a kiss to Chris’s forehead, and gently lays him back down on the pillows. Then he just sits, for a moment, looking at the kid who’s lost so much, been through so much, and has come out the other side scarred, but joyful. Three days ago he’d been laughing as Eddie cussed Buck out (with very creative, kid-friendly curse words) during Uno. 

When Buck looks away, he meets Eddie’s eyes. 

He freezes like a deer in headlights. 

Eddie’s eyebrows are drawn together, his mouth pulled into a small frown, but his eyes are so tender that Buck’s heart skips a beat. The way Eddie’s looking at him… it’s like the way Buck feels around him, all the time. Like he’s so in love it breaks his own damn heart. 

His voice is barely audible. He’s terrified to break the moment. “Eds?” 

Eddie breathes out through his nose, sits up on the bed, but he doesn’t look away. He searches Buck’s eyes, and Buck knows what he’ll find. 

Buck spent so long afraid of being seen through, but he’s never been so scared of being seen. 

He feels like a movie on rewind. Like the panic attack, his fight with Bobby, all of Buck’s long, sleepless nights, the ladder truck, the days he spent at Eddie’s side, that first Christmas when Shannon came around and Buck realized he was in love with his best friend who would never love him back — it’s all unraveling in the space between them, above Chris’s head, in the cheerful light of a Buzz Lightyear lamp.

After what feels like an eternity, but is probably only a few minutes, Eddie says, “c’mon. Let’s let him sleep.” 

Buck follows him out of Chris’s room, looking back just once at his buddy, his Superman, brow furrowed even in his sleep. 

Eddie walks to the kitchen, switching on the light, and pours himself a glass of water from the tap. Buck leans against the counter and looks out the window, stares at a street lamp glowing a weak, unsettling orange. 

“I once saved a man from drowning in his own blood,” Eddie says, putting his glass down. “Then, the night of the tsunami, I saved a kid from secondary drowning. On land.” 

Buck looks at him. Eddie’s arms are folded and he’s glaring a hole into the cabinet opposite him. 

“But this? The nightmares? The trauma? I can’t save Chris from that. I… I’ve never felt… I don’t know how to fix that.”

Buck knows a thing or two about running from the past. “You’re doing everything he needs you to do, Eddie. You’re here for him. You just have to be here.” That’s all Buck ever wanted, at least. Someone who would stay.

Eddie looks at him, his fear written clearly across his face. 

“Promise me,” he says, “Promise me you’ll be here, too. I can’t do this alone, Buck. And it… it isn’t just me he needs. He needs you too.”

If you asked, Buck would tell you he’s a pretty tough person. Physically, emotionally — he can take a beating. Has. But here he is, on the verge of tears for the third time tonight. His throat is dry as he swallows. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I need him too.” 

Eddie looks at him and Buck drops his gaze to the countertop. “Buck, I…” Eddie starts. 

When nothing else follows, Buck steps up beside him and grabs the glass of water, drains the rest. Tries to regain his footing, remember that this is something he can’t have. This is something he can’t lose. 

Buck steps around Eddie to get to the sink, but Eddie’s hand latches onto his elbow and Buck freezes. They’re practically nose to nose, bodies hovering just inches apart, and Buck thinks about gravity and how objects are drawn together. Feels like he’s fighting a primordial force, holding himself away from Eddie. 

“Buck,” Eddie says, again. But this time it’s quiet, just a murmur filling the small space between them. Buck stares at the glass in his right hand, because he knows that if he looks at Eddie, he loses this battle. 

“Buck, please,” Eddie whispers. 

Buck drops the glass. Thank God it was already over the sink or else it would have smashed on the floor, but even then Buck’s not sure they would have noticed. 

He has an arm around Eddie’s waist and a hand in Eddie’s hair, and every place they’re pressed together feels like it’s on fire. His hips, his chest, their lips. Eddie has a hand tight around the back of Buck’s neck, and it feels like a brand. His other hand frames Buck’s jaw, his thumb sweeping back and forth across Buck’s cheekbone, and it feels like home. 

Buck’s thought about kissing Eddie a thousand times, but nothing he’d ever dreamed of comes close to this. Eddie’s warmth against him, his soft lips, his fucking scent, like eucalyptus soap and smoke. Probably not even from work. He probably burned his and Chris’s dinner.

Eddie takes a breath and Buck feels the way his lungs expand with his own body. The hand at his neck slides down to the small of his back, and Buck smiles into the kiss, presses, impossibly, closer. He feels Eddie’s mouth stretching into a grin before Eddie breaks the kiss and presses their foreheads together, so they can grin at each other like loons. 

“Holy shit,” Buck says. He can’t feel his toes, that’s how good it was. Eddie laughs and Buck can feel it wash over his skin. It’s incredible. 

“Wanted to do that for so long,” Eddie admits, brushing his nose against Buck’s. 

“Not as long as I have,” Buck says, tightening his arms around Eddie. If he has anything to say about it, he’s never letting go. 

“I’m pretty sure I thought of a variation on, ‘can I kiss it better’ at least a hundred times over the past six months,” Eddie says. 

“First time I saw you, you were pulling a shirt over your head,” Buck says, grinning, “and I wanted to lick you all over.”

“Gross,” Eddie laughs, his hands squeezing Buck’s hips. “But I probably would have let you.”

“You were still married, dumbass.” 

“Yeah, but you were pretty damn cute. Are pretty damn cute.” 

Buck catches Eddie’s lower lip between his teeth, tugging as he pulls away. “Do not say shit like that to me, man. My heart can’t take it.” 

“It’s OK, I’m a firefighter,” Eddie says, chasing the kiss. “I can do CPR” is pressed against Buck’s lips.

“Well in that case,” Buck says, and covers Eddie’s mouth with his. 

When they pull apart, Buck drops his chin to Eddie’s shoulder and holds him tight. Eddie wraps his arms around Buck and presses his nose to Buck’s hair, and Buck could live here forever, safe in Eddie’s arms, in his warm kitchen, the boy Buck loves like his own son down the hall. 

“You know, you’re always pretty,” Eddie says in Buck’s ear, “but you look like hell tonight. What happened?” 

Buck huffs. Moment over. At least Eddie’s still holding him, even if he invited the outside world back in. 

“Bobby happened,” Buck says. “Turns out he’s the reason I’m not back with the team. He doesn’t think I’m ready. I kind of stormed out of Athena’s house.”

“Shit.” Buck’s pleased by the anger in Eddie’s tone. “It was his call?”

“Yeah. I thought he had my back. Guess not.” Somehow, it’s easier to bear with Eddie in his arms. It doesn’t feel like his entire world has shattered, just… rearranged. 

Eddie presses a kiss to the skin behind his ear. “You’ve got me,” he says. “We’ll talk some sense into him.”

Buck pulls away, needing his hands to wipe away the tears that started spilling over. Eddie keeps him close, running his hands up and down Buck’s shoulders. 

“You think… you think I can do it?” Buck asks, hating the waver in his voice, the obvious uncertainty. The fear. 

“‘Course I do,” Eddie says without hesitation. “It’s who you are.” 

Buck lifts his head and meets Eddie’s eyes, finally lets himself see the fierce loyalty, the _love_ , that he’s told himself over and over he’s projecting onto Eddie. Turns out he’s not so good at seeing what’s right in front of him, either.

Because Eddie’s always seen him, seen him at his most obnoxious, his most reckless, and loved him anyway. Seen him fail, and fall, and fall apart, and been right there with him. He’s shared his life, his son, his heart, and Buck was just too scared to reach out and take it. 

“I love you,” Buck says. 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, smile blinding, “but not as much as I love you.”

Eddie’s not leaving. He’s been waiting for Buck to catch up. 


End file.
